


The Ace Imperator

by eag



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Mad Max: Fury Road
Genre: Determination, Gen, Imperator Ace, Imperator Furiosa - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Love, Loyalty, Other, Suicidal Thoughts, Survival, War Boy Furiosa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 08:03:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5449328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eag/pseuds/eag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate beginnings:  Rescued by the Ace Imperator, Furiosa finds her way.</p><p>Inspired by the art of <a href="http://ulsae1995.tumblr.com/">Ulsae1995</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ulsae1995](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Ulsae1995).



> This story follows its own characterizations and timeline, separate from my [main series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/288167).

“What do you think he wants?” The Prime stroked his dark beard thoughtfully.

“Dunno.” The Ace shrugged. “He didn't tell me either. Just waitin on the order, that's all.”

The Ace Imperator and the Prime Imperator stood patiently outside, breathing in the sweet water-scent of the antechamber beyond the Vault. There was work to be done today, though neither of them knew what it was, only that they were to await the Immortan's orders.

The Ace eyed the lettuces. Dotted with gleaming pearls of water, they looked delicious, crisp and green, but he had never stolen from the Immortan and could not imagine it. Not even the tiniest taste of a tender leaf that no one would notice had ever passed through his lips. 

A fine mist of water fell like a light rain, and he sighed, thoughts wandering briefly to the past.

The vast farm of his boyhood, the tall green of vigorously sprouting wheat swaying at a rising wind. The rain that fell from the skies to their upraised prayers. Her small hand in his, holding him tight, warm and damp from the rains as they ran together through the--

The hollow thump of footsteps broke the Ace's reverie, the sound of two people walking, a doubled set and there was a strange irregularity to one of them. Both Imperators straightened up, eyeing each other.

The heavy steel door opened silently, the mechanism perfectly oiled and maintained. Immediately, the faint, sweet scent of flowers wafted out, the air crisp and clean, and the Ace inhaled deeply, the taste of a forbidden world just beyond the protected door.

“No! No! Please...please don't throw me out! I'll be good. I won't fight anymore. I'll do whatever you want– ” And the Ace's eyes widened; she was no more than a child, dressed in the garb of a wife, the long drapery of creamy linen clinging to her slender hips.

“Useless! Worthless...trash.” The Immortan briefly struggled to keep his hands on her, before overpowering her easily, keeping her from running back into the Vault. “Take her away; she's no more use to me.”

“What should we do with her, boss?” the Ace asked.

“I don't care. Just get her out of my sight.” The Immortan shoved her out, knocking her to the ground in a huddled, sobbing heap. He retreated into the Vault, closing the heavy door behind him.

When the Ace hesitated, the Prime reached out and grabbed the girl for himself, slinging her light form over his muscled shoulder.

“You heard the Immortan.” The Prime nodded to the Ace. The Prime smirked as the girl squirmed, and when she tried to bite him, he pinched her arm hard enough to make her yelp.

 

The Ace followed along, unsure of what the Prime wanted until he led them down to their shared quarters.

“You can't.” The Ace stepped forward as the Prime slung her off his shoulder and onto his bed. When she tried to slip out from under him, the Prime slapped her, hard enough to daze her.

“Why can't I?” The Prime straddled her, forcing her legs apart easily. The cold chain of his Imperator's emblem slid between her bare thighs and she flinched away at the icy touch of metal.

“Because she's not yours. She belongs to Joe...”

“And he threw her out. We eat from his plate when he's done with the meal. Why can't we have his other leftovers? Don't recall you objecting before.” The Prime turned his back to the Ace, ignoring him, fumbling with his belt with one hand while pinning her down with the other.

“She's just a child.” The Ace grabbed the Prime, hauling him off the girl and briefly, they grappled before the Prime tore himself away.

“'Old enough to bleed, old enough to breed',” the Prime hissed, and for a moment, the girl was forgotten.

Cold fury overtook the Ace, and before he knew it himself, he had hit the Prime hard, his heavy fist swinging through the air, the force of the blow sending the Prime down to his knees.

The Prime spat blood, wiping at his mouth.

“Filth! Traitor! I thought you were my brother! Why did you do that? What was that for?”

“You can't have her.” The Ace grabbed the girl by the wrist and pulled her stumbling away.

 

The Ace took her into a store room, surrounded by sacks of dried grain and legumes, the sweet scent of dust and chaff filling the air.

“Here, sit.” But she was crying, and he wasn't certain of what to do but he untied his kerchief and wiped her tears.

The tears stained the black even darker.

“Worthless,” she said softly, her voice choked and trembling. Tears clung to her dark eyelashes, matting them. “I'm...”

“No. He's wrong.”

He knelt beside her as she cried, touching the cloth to her face, careful to be gentle.

“He said I was trash.”

“He says a lot of things.” The Ace looked away. “You can't listen to everything everyone says.”

“Even if it's the Immortan Joe?”

Uncomfortable, the Ace Imperator set his hands on her shoulders lightly. “Even--”

“Please... Please don't hurt me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, trembling with fear.

Guilt caught him in the gut and the Ace drew his hands away. “Won't...wouldn't think of it.” He tied the kerchief back around his neck and the dampness of her tears was cold against his skin, chilling him.

“What are you going to do with me?” Her eyes were green, and in them he could see her fear and her unshed tears.

“Dunno exactly, not yet. Got an idea though.” The Ace hesitated at the door, his expression full of worry. “Stay in here. Don't make a sound. Be back as soon as I can, promise.”

Furiosa hugged herself tight. When the man was gone, she hid behind a heavy sack of grain, settling against the rough, scratchy burlap that the thin linen of her dress could not wholly protect her from. 

Shame and fear and exhaustion; that was her entire world. With the remnants of tears in her eyes, somehow she fell asleep.

 

There was a dream that she sometimes had. That she was little, and the strong arms of her mother lifted her up, pressing Furiosa tight against her warm shoulder. Furiosa was rocked gently as her mother walked with the easy sway-hipped walk of the women as they went about their work in the fields, the rustling rippling green of the plants growing strong and vibrant around them.

Above, the sun shone warm, and her mother was humming a song...

Furiosa woke. The dream was real, only it was not her mother who carried her in their arms.

Panicked, she squirmed to get away, but hard, calloused hands tightened around her, pinning her against a hard-muscled chest.

“Shhh...quiet.” The man murmured, and gasping with fear, she twisted to get away, afraid of who it could be, afraid it was the Imperator with the beard.

“All right, all right.” The man set her down, and it was the same one from before, the one who had saved her. One Imperator or another, what was the difference? She knew they fought over her, but perhaps it was the way two snarling dogs fought over the same bone, each wanting it for himself.

She flinched away from him, looking around at the junction of tunnels bored through stone, trying to decide where to run.

“Don't be foolish,” the Ace said softly, offering his hand. “You can't run away. You might end up somewhere worse, somewhere where I can't protect you.”

“You don't know.” Furiosa shrank back from his extended hand, but she didn't dare run, realizing he was right.

“Don't I?” The Ace gave her a wry look and offered her his hand again. “Come on. There's no place for you to run. Gonna take you someplace safe now. Some place where you can survive.”

Hesitant, she stared at the hand. Calloused and hardened with work, a fighting man's hands blackened with soot, soot that faintly stained and spoiled the creamy linen of her clothes where he had touched her.

She touched her shoulder, trying to brush off the grime.

But then hearing the sound of approaching boots, she quickly took his hand and let him lead her away.

Their fingers twined together.

 

The bridges swayed high above the ground, the wind rattling the joints of iron chain. They were on the lowest of the bridges, but from here even the handful of Wretched below looked tiny, insectile. Furiosa shook her head.

“No. I can't.”

“Ain't got a choice,” the Ace said simply. “Gotta move forward.”

“I can't,” she whispered, trembling.

“Then I'll carry you.”

“No. Don't touch me.” Furiosa looked away, disgusted with herself that she was too afraid to let him help her, but even more afraid to let go of his hand.

“You know what it's like to be brave? To fight in war?”

“No. Not really.” She rubbed the tears from her eyes and bowed her head, ashamed, remembering that once, when it was important, when she should have fought, she had frozen up in fear.

“Ain't about bein tough or the best. You just keep moving forward. Even if you're scared, even if you wanna run away. You face what you're afraid of and you keep going. Just one step at a time, going forward. First step's the hardest, but after that, it's just one foot in front of the other.” The Ace eased her closer to the edge, his hand on her shoulder. “And it ain't on your shoulders alone. You don't gotta carry it all by yourself. It's about everyone working together, having each other's backs. I won't let you fall. I promise.”

“I'm afraid.” Furiosa's voice was almost lost to the wind.

“You afraid of this bridge or you afraid of what's behind us? Cuz we could go back, but I don't think you'd like that much.”

“Shut up! You can't understand!” Furiosa found herself shouting, angry, but then she grit her teeth, tightening her grip on his hand, and set her tender, bare foot onto the cold metal plank of the bridge.

“One step at a time,” the Ace said, giving her hand a squeeze. “Left and right; there, that's a good girl. You can do it...”

 

Halfway through the last of the bridges, Furiosa found the courage to look down.

There was a dizzying, light-headed moment when she realized that the Imperator was wrong; there were other ways out of the Citadel. Ways that she had heard whispers about, even in the Vault. It was a difficult escape, but it could be done.

Hard-calloused, grasping, greedy hands, and cruel eyes. Shivering, she could already imagine it and she wondered if she was being sent to another world like that, a captive of the War Boys, to be used and abused at leisure by all those frightening, bald-shaven, white-painted men.

Furiosa swallowed. It would be fast, an easy way out; there would be no surviving a fall from this height. All she had to do was get her hand away from his, and maybe that jump wouldn't be too hard...

As if he knew her thoughts before she even moved, the Ace tightened his grip on her hand.

“Come on, let's go. It's cold up here. You'll catch your death.”

 

He took her into a place of sickness, of death. They passed hollow-eyed War Boys wasting away, and she shrank from their blank, exhausted stares as they watched her passing with disinterest, too absorbed in their own misery to care.

Soon they stood alone before a great shrine of metal crowned in flames, and the Ace folded his hands together, bowing his head piously.

“We do the offering here,” the Ace said, and called for a boy to bring a stool. Furiosa sat, settling her skirts around her the way she had been taught, and the Ace knelt down before her, taking out a pair of scissors from a tool pocket.

“What are you doing?” 

“Cutting your hair.”

“You can't cut it!”

“No?” The Ace settled back to look at her. “Oh. Right. Should explain this better. Sorry. Sometimes I forget other people gotta make their own choices too.” Briefly, he looked up at the cold light streaming in from the air shaft above.

The Ace met her eyes, and she realized that they were nearly the color of a storm-clouded sky, only a deeper blue. “There ain't a better way to survive. You can't live in the Immortan's Tower, and you're too healthy to be sent down below. That'd be terrible waste of your life, puttin you among the Wretched. So I'm givin you another option. As long as you're willing to work and work hard, you'll always have a place here, even a high place if you got the will and the determination. What I'm tryin to say is, I'm making you a War Boy.”

“Don't...don't I have to be a man?”

“No,” the Ace chuckled humorlessly, shaking his head. “You won't be the first or the last of the Immortan's leavings to end up workin the warren. Since you're so young I made arrangements for you. You'll be safe here, among the other War Pups, just another kid among the other kids.”

“What if I don't want to?”

“Then I don't know what to do for you, girl. Because the rule outside the Vault is that you work for your supper or you don't eat. You'll have a place and it'll be a good place, a safe and secure place. Else...” The Ace shook his head.

Furiosa saw the way his expression grew still, drawn, troubled by his thoughts. “Would they kill me?”

“No. Just send you down, maybe. Or stop feeding you. Wouldn't want that to happen, either way,” the Ace said stiffly. 

“Why are you so worried about me? Why do you care?”

The Ace shrugged helplessly. “Maybe you remind me of someone I knew when I was a boy. Or maybe it's someone else.” He paused, staring down at his black-stained hands, the scissors lax in his grip. “Suppose...she might be about your age by now, if she had lived. How? Um. How...many days you got, girl?”

“Four thousand and some days.” Furiosa looked away. “And my name's not 'girl'. It's Furiosa.”

“Well, Furiosa,” the Ace looked around. Here at the shrine they were alone; even the Organic Mechanic and his Redthumbs were away at their work. Still, his voice dropped to a low murmur. “My name is Alex. But no one calls me that anymore, not even my brother Imperators. It's been the Ace for all my war days. Call me Ace.”

“Ace,” Furiosa wondered aloud. “Who gave you that name?”

“My mother. A nickname from a long time ago, when I was a little boy,” the Ace stroked a long strand of her hair idly, and drew his hand back as she flinched away. “Sorry.”

“Just...tell me what War Boys do.”

“Depends on the job, Furiosa, but for you, I think you'd be a fighter. A Lancer on a fast pursuit vehicle, riding high on the Fury Road. Seems to me that you got that kind of a heart, and all we gotta do is strengthen your arm and sharpen your eye.”

“Why do you think I'm a fighter?”

“Because I can tell. You got it deep inside, where no one can touch you.” The Ace settled back against his boots, and pointed at her heart without touching her. “Maybe you think you're weak but it's only on the outside, and only temporary. Inside you're all steel, quenched and tempered, hard but flexible enough not to shatter. Not a lot of people made this way, even in this world. You'll make a great warrior someday, just need someone to give you some guidance and training.”

“I don't see what you're talking about.” And she hugged herself, bent over, remembering similar words spoken to her a long time ago, the Valkyrie's hands on her shoulders.

“Then trust that I got an eye for quality. Otherwise I wouldn't have been an Imperator for so long, since the beginning,” the Ace said wryly.

“Are you going to train me then?”

The Ace's mouth pursed in a sad smile, and he shook his head. “Can't. Got too many duties by the Immortan's side. But I know who can, and you'll meet him soon. Don't give me that look; I know my business. He's a good War Boy; he'll treat you right, train you up, make you strong. He's young, but he's clever and determined. He'll make you the best of the best, if you're willing.”

“I...I don't have much choice, do I?”

“Not much of one. Could just leave you to running around by yourself, finding your own way, but that's dangerous. Might end up in a worse situation than back there, without someone at your back,” the Ace said. “Furiosa, even if there aren't many options, sometimes life is freeing when you make a decision and stick to it. You gonna let me cut your hair now?”

Furiosa stared at her bare feet, at her thin wrists, wondering how she could choose to join the Immortan Joe's Aqua-Cola slaves, how she could fight for the man that tore her from her family, from her home. How she could hurt other people for him. Part of her whispered that she would rather die, that she should run back to the bridges and hurl herself off.

But she was young and afraid, and she didn't really want to die. Not yet.

When the epiphany came to her, it was like harsh sunlight shearing through a break in the clouds and she almost laughed at the simplicity of it. If she learned how to fight, if she became a great warrior, she could use it against the Immortan Joe. Find his weak point. Tear out his heart. She couldn't do it the way she was now, but here she was being offered training, offered a way. A way for revenge.

The Ace was right. As sharp clarity filled her with purpose, she felt some of the weight of the fear and shame slipping off her shoulders.

“Cut it off,” Furiosa whispered, bowing her head.

 

He cropped off her hair close to the skull, and a young boy, a War Boy in miniature took the discarded locks, carefully keeping the long strands in order. Once the Ace was done, she immediately felt lighter, and curious, she felt at the rough shear of short, jagged hair with her fingertips, wondering what she looked like now that it was gone.

“That part will be reused. Someone will weave it into the center of a wheel, or braid it into strong rope. The rest, we offer it to the Immorta,” the Ace explained.

“Who?”

“The Immorta, heart of the V8. The eternal engine, modular and ever-renewing. She who times all our deaths and the sets the rpm of all our lives.” The Ace sharpened the straight razor, before setting the cold flat of the blade against her forehead briefly. 

“Accept the offering.” 

Carefully, stroke by stroke, he sheared off the rest, leaving pieces of dark hair clinging to the white linen of her dress.

Afterwards, a War Pup swept up the trimmings to be placed in the fire.

The acrid smell of burning hair clung to Furiosa's nose as the Ace guided her away from the shrine.

 

“Morsov. There you are.”

“Sorry, Imperator. Things got busy at the shop.” The War Boy ducked his head politely, folding his hands together briefly before looking down at Furiosa. “Ah, this is why we couldn't meet in the shop.”

Furiosa inched away, backing up, but the Ace gave her shoulder a squeeze.

“You'll have to get her new clothes, and have her put on the white. But I got her started for you.”

“What's her name?”

“I'm Furiosa.” Furiosa looked up at Morsov steadily, gauging him, looking at his scars, the brands he wore on his chest, his muscled arms and the tools hanging from his belts.

“Furiosa? A good name and a good omen,” Morsov nodded his approval.

“All right then. I'm entrusting her to you. Don't fail me, Morsov.” The Ace paused and took a deep breath, folding his hands together once more. When he spoke, Furiosa immediately recognized the cadence of ritual words.

“'Receive unto us this child; let the offering be accepted by the Immorta.'” The Ace met her eyes. “Furiosa. Be now a War Boy for all the rest of your half-life.”

She didn't know what to say to him, so she merely ducked her head awkwardly.

The Ace left soon after that.

After he was gone, Morsov crouched down, and offered her his hand. His clear brown eyes were warm, friendly, though colored with a deep melancholy. Despite the obscuring white, his face was pleasant, without the bitter lines of anger or sly cunning.

It was then that she realized that the Ace had been right; this was a man she could probably trust.

“Well, Furiosa. Looks like I'm going to be training you from now on. You ready?”

Furiosa clasped Morsov's hand firmly.


	2. Chapter 2

“The Ace Imperator!”

“Mosa. The War Rig Imperator.” The two Imperators exchanged their greetings, pressing their foreheads together and sharing breath with the warmth of old friends.

“What brings you here, my brother Ace?” Broad-shouldered Mosa linked arms with the Ace, the affectionate gesture of brother Imperators unconstrained by the ritual and formality of the Immortan's retinue.

“Wanted to check on the progress of certain a War Pup. Been what, two hundred days now?”

“You mean the Revhead?”

“Already?”

“A natural,” Mosa said, but he gave the Ace a knowing look, “despite everything.” Mosa raised his voice, pitching it to be heard over the machinery. “Furiosa! Look who's come by to see you.”

“Just a minute!” Furiosa looked up from underneath the engine, her face smudged black from engine grease. “Ace?”

 

“Hear you're doing good, Furiosa.” 

They sat up in the front gunner's nest of the War Rig, looking down at the work below.

“I guess?” Furiosa rubbed her hands on the shop cloth absently, fidgeting, and the Ace nodded his approval. There was something about her that seemed firmer; when he looked closely, he could see the growing bulge of muscle in her bare arms and shoulders.

“Here, brought you something. Would have brought you something nicer, had I known you'd been promoted. Next time.” He handed her a cloth-wrapped packet and opening it, her eyes widened at the wealth of dried jujubes and shelled nutmeat, far more than she had seen since she lived in the Vault.

“Eat up.”

“Don't you want some, Ace?”

“No. It's for you.” The Ace sat back, watching her eat, but she had no more than a few walnuts before putting the rest away, tucking it carefully into a pocket. “Furiosa, Morsov tells me you won't wear the white or cut your hair. Came to see it for myself.”

“So? Who cares?” Furiosa sulked, her good mood suddenly turned sour.

“Maybe it's nothing to you, but...” The Ace sighed. “Probably wouldn't change your mind if I said that Lancers aren't allowed to go to war without the white to keep off the sun, or their hair sheared and offered?”

Furiosa made a sound of frustration. “I don't want to talk about it anymore. Everyone's already been at me about this! It's so annoying. Can't I just be myself? You didn't walk all the way down from the Immortan's Tower just for this, did you?”

“No. Came to show you something.” 

“Huh?”

“Come on, let's go.”

 

The Ace Imperator took her to an abandoned car shop, one of the early ones that was no longer in use, too far from the new electrical system they had put in so long ago that it was no longer new. 

He set his hands on her shoulders; slender still, but there was a substantialness to them that he didn't remember. And was she growing already? She seemed taller now than she was before, and when he glanced at the cuff of her trousers, it seemed that she no longer wore them rolled as she first did, though the hems pooled around her bare feet.

She looked up at him with curious green eyes.

“Maybe you're doing a good job, Furiosa, but you're stubborn as a block of tungsten and headstrong to boot. You could probably be doing live Lancer training already, down in the waste on a real car. That'd be beyond what Morsov can teach you here inside, but the War Rig Imperator can't do much more than promote you to Revhead if you won't do what you're told.”

“That's a lie; I do everything I'm supposed to.”

“Except cut your hair and wear the white.”

“So? I'm good at fixing the cars. I even work on the War Rig now. What else does anyone want from me.”

“Trust. Loyalty.” The Ace let her go. He crossed his arms.

“Huh?”

“It's why you haven't earned your boots yet, Furiosa. Maybe you earned your promotion to Revhead on sheer ability, but they don't think you're fully trustworthy. They're afraid you'd try to run given half a chance, taking the secrets of the Citadel with you. They don't think you really want to be one of us, a War Boy in truth.”

Furiosa tore herself away from his hands. “Why's that important? I'm doing everything you told me to. I work hard. I have a place.”

“That ain't enough, not if you wanna get ahead.”

“Why does it matter what I look like?” Furiosa glared. “Why's that important? I don't even understand. This place is stupid. I hate this place.”

“This place,” the Ace said mildly, though there was iron behind the words and for a moment she understood why he was an Imperator; he had a commanding presence that she had not seen him wield until now. “This place is the best place we got and the only place we got. I'll have you not forget that.”

“S-so... So what? You're wrong, Ace. This place is a place of slaves. We're all his slaves. We always have been. Even you! Especially you!”

The Ace took a deep breath, and his words were slow, deliberate. “Better his slave than starving out in the waste. The Immortan Joe is our redeemer, who has protected us all his days. And he will be the one who is the last Witness, sacrificing himself for us, so that we may all rise to Valhalla.”

Disgusted by his words, she flinched away from him. “Ace. You really believe everything that you're told? It's better to be dead than a slave,” Furiosa spat. “You're so stupid. You couldn't understand. You've been a slave too long to know what it's like to be free. I hate you and everyone else like you.” And she was surprised how the words came out of her mouth, the words that she had been trying so hard for so long to hold in.

The silence that fell between them shocked her, like the cold cutting wind that sometimes blew into the great central hall of the shop, whipping away the comforting warmth of a hot engine.

“Furiosa.”

“What?”

“You're angry.”

“Because it's unfair! Because you're unfair! I worked hard. I did what you said. And now you and everyone else wants more and I don't want to be more. I don't want to be like them. I'm not like them! I can't be like them! I don't want to be a War Boy. I'm not a War Boy! I... I just want to be me. What's wrong with that?” She blinked at obscuring tears and told herself that they were tears of anger. She was mad, mad at him, and not upset because he was disappointed. Not upset because he was turning away from her.

“Then take this.” The Ace unholstered his sidearm, and Furiosa immediately recognized it as a Glock 17. He pressed it to her hand. The heavy gun was still warm from the heat of his body.

“Wait, why are you...”

“This is what it means to be loyal to each other, Furiosa.” He closed her hand carefully around the gun. She touched the safety; she knew how to take it off, she had done it plenty of times in training with a dummy gun. She checked the chamber; it was fully loaded. Nine shots, more than enough. He was unarmed. She could take him hostage; she could steal a fast car, using him as a shield. They would never dare shoot an Imperator, not one as high-ranking as the Ace, who stood at the left-hand side of the Immortan Joe. She could be out of the Citadel by the afternoon with supplies enough to get away, to go far away, and no one could stop her.

When Furiosa met his eyes, she knew that the Ace had known her thoughts already.

“Being loyal means that even if we're upset with each other, even when we're angry and we hate each other, even with the loaded gun held in our hands, that we would never shoot. Not at each other.” The Ace's slate-blue eyes were calm, at peace. “If you ain't a War Boy, you'd shoot me where I stand without hesitation.”

“I can't kill you...”

“Why? Is it because of the times I brought you food? Is it because I put the gun in your hand myself? Or is it because once, I saved you from the Prime when he--”

“Stop!” Before she realized it, the safety was off and she had the gun pointed at him, her hands trembling.

“Or is it something else.” The Ace uncrossed his arms, opening them wide, offering his exposed chest. “Ask yourself that. Could you kill a fellow War Boy?”

“You're not a fellow War Boy. You're the Ace.”

“An Imperator surely. But a War Boy first.” The Ace slapped his chest, first with one hand and then the other. “A War Boy always, to the end of my days.”

“You're not like them.”

“No?” The Ace laughed, a bitter, dark sound and she realized she had never heard him laugh before. “Ain't it true that a War Boy eats the fallen captives of his thunder stick? That a War Boy steals children to work on the farms up top? I done my share; ain't no one around here got clean hands. Except...” And suddenly it seemed like the energy drained out of him, and he let his hands drop to his sides.

“Except?”

“Except you.” The Ace sighed, shaking his head. “Here. Put the safety back on, Furiosa. I'm sorry; it weren't right of me. Shouldn't have pushed you. But now you know what you're made of, and that's something better than I'll ever be.”

Ashamed, knowing she herself was not what he thought she was, Furiosa clicked on the safety, and moved to return the gun, but the Ace shook his head.

“Let's...let's see if Morsov's training is paying off. Show me your shooting stance.”

“Like this?” She brought her arms up the way Morsov had shown her, keeping her elbows straight.

“Good. But here, shoulders down. You're too tense.” The Ace set his hands on her shoulders, righting her.

“Morsov says that too. But I can't help it.”

“Then practice,” the Ace said, “even when you don't have a gun in your hands. Practice til it's a part of you. Good, better. Breathe. Like that. Tell me, where do you aim?”

“The heart, the liver, the stomach. The head, the neck, the eyes.”

“Very good, Furiosa.”

She went through the motions of her training for him, all the while aware of his hands on her shoulders, gentle and warm.

Absently, he gave her shoulders a squeeze as she raised the gun again, letting muscle memory do the work for her.

“Can't always be here for you. Got my work just like you got yours. And maybe not even Morsov neither, no matter how much he likes you. You gotta keep working hard, keep training. You have to protect yourself, Furiosa...”

 

“Well? What'd she say? She gonna follow orders?”

“Mosa. Talked to her. Been thinking on it. Seems to me that it's fine to just let her be,” the Ace Imperator said to the War Rig Imperator. “She don't need to look like us to be one of us.” 

“You...you sure about this, Ace?” Mosa frowned, skeptical.

“Sure I'm sure. Ain't her outsides dictate what her insides do. She's a War Boy through and through. Besides, she ain't ever gonna look like one of us, not the way she's built.”

“Yeah, maybe... But I'm worried about morale. Can't have her starting a minor rebellion among the rank 'n file, bru. Got enough trouble on my hands without worryin bout that.” 

The Ace gave the War Rig Imperator the side of his eye. “Anyone asks, tell 'em she's in training to be an Imperator someday.”

Mosa laughed. “Better watch my back then, right? Someday she'll have my job.”

“Right.” Clapping each other's backs, they walked together to the bridges, where the War Rig Imperator saw the Ace Imperator off.

*****

From the inside of the Gigahorse, the Ace Imperator kept his eyes out for her, wondering if he would see her riding somewhere with the War Party, perhaps with the other Revheads on the Hauler, or as crew supporting a large truck or a half rig.

Just as he was about to give up, a fast pursuit car came roaring up past the Gigahorse on the passenger side, and looking down, the Ace was surprised to see her clinging to the back perch. The Ace recognized her beneath the goggles by her shock of short-cropped hair and her dusty bodice, stained orange-yellow with dust.

When she saw him, she smiled up at him exalted, lips tight with tension, and he could see the fire in her glowing bright, ready for the battle.

 

Afterwards, the Ace Imperator found her still catching her breath, her hands trembling from the adrenaline as she leaned against the discharged pole of her thunder stick, the top shaft of the carefully wrapped spear blackened and soot-stained from the explosion. Blood stippled her arms, her face, tiny droplets that dried sticky to her fair skin and it reminded Ace of a time from his youth, protecting the Immortan Joe...

“Furiosa.” She straightened up at the sound of his voice, and he was surprised; she was taller than he remembered, a full-grown War Boy at ten hands and one finger.

“Ace.” Panting and thirsty, so he offered her his water. Gratefully, she took it, sipping it politely but he gestured for her to drink deeply.

“More where that came from.” He took it back once she was done. “Fine work out there, Lancer. Caught some of the battle from the Gigahorse.” 

“Thanks,” Furiosa ducked her head, that old habit of hers when they talked, and the Ace mussed the short spiky buzz of her hair, feeling the soft, ticklish burr beneath his palm.

“How's riding with Elvis? He been watching your back like he's supposed to?”

“Good. He's been really good to me. Helped train me when I first started and--” Furiosa looked up at the Ace. “Wait. How'd you know who I was riding with?”

“Just a hunch,” the Ace shrugged it off, changing the subject, though she noted the barest hint of a smile on his lips. “Congratulations on your promotion.” 

“Finally,” Furiosa kicked at the dust, staring at her feet, embarrassed at his praise. “Been training a long time for it.”

“You deserve it. Tell me, when was the promotion ceremony?”

“Um...fifteen, sixteen days ago?” Feigning uncertainty, she gestured nonchalantly, but he knew that she knew it to the day.

“Ah, should have sent me word. Would have come if I knew.”

“Didn't think you'd care,” Furiosa mumbled.

“Hmm?”

“It wasn't that important,” Furiosa said, louder.

“Sure it was.” The Ace offered her his hand, and when she took it hesitantly, he gave her a squeeze, warm and firm. “Always wanted to see you do well, Furiosa. Now look at you, fresh from your first war...” His mouth moved in a tight line, and he shook his head a little, shaking off dark, intrusive thoughts. “Well, situation like this deserves a gift. Wish I knew in advance--” But then he paused and his right hand wandered to his gunbelt.

“Ace. You don't have to give me anything. I don't need anything from you...”

“No, here. Take this.” He unholstered his gun, and immediately Furiosa recognized the Glock 17.

It was warm in her hands from the heat of his body.

“Wait, Ace. You've had this gun for ages.”

“So? It's not like I don't got others. This one's for you.” He pressed her hands over the gun.

“I can't take this. It's too much.”

“No. Now that you're riding the Fury Road, you'll be exposed to a lot more danger. Keep it hidden though. Lancers don't often get issued sidearms. Wouldn't want anyone getting jealous,” the Ace winked.

Furiosa checked it. Fully loaded, nine rounds. She remembered the last time she had his gun in hand; she had been so much younger that the gun in her memory was so much larger in her hands. Furiosa tried to remember the girl who had gripped it tight in her hand, the girl who had taken the safety off, the girl who had pointed the weapon at the Ace. It was hard to imagine that tear-stained child was the same person that she was now.

The Ace set his hands on her shoulders and in the bright sunlight, she saw how clear and blue his eyes were, not the color of the lonely sky of the waste, but the color of deep water.

“Keep it hidden. Use it to protect yourself.”


	3. Chapter 3

It was bad luck that the black kerchief slipped, the cloth coming undone and revealing his lumps to the Immortan Joe. Or perhaps it wasn't bad luck, the Ace realized; the Prime had helped him obscure the growing tumors by tying the black fabric carefully. He hadn't felt the knot give way until it was too late, and the cloth had slithered down from around his neck. 

Either way, the Ace knew what it meant when the Immortan Joe's eyes narrowed, fixed on the imperfection and impurity tainting his body.

“Get him out of my sight,” the Immortan said, disgusted. The Prime was the first to grab the Ace and lead him away.

 

“Brother, you hit me once.” The Prime paced the bare stone chamber. “You remember?”

“Yeah. I remember.” Holding his black kerchief in his hands, the Ace twisted the cloth between his hands.

“The pain of it never went away,” the Prime said, touching his face, running his hand along the gray-flecked beard over his jaw. “Stayed with me all these thousands of days, even when I didn't want it to stay. I tried not to let it pain me, but the pain ached furious, all these years.”

“So? Even the Immortan thought it was funny. The two of us, fightin over a girl.”

“That wasn't the point of it.” The Prime's eyes blazed furious. “It was never about the girl. It was about how you traitored me.”

“Did what I thought was right. Ain't sorry about any of it.”

“You betrayed me. Now you'll feel how it hurts too.” The Prime drew away, turning his back on the Ace as the other Imperators came for him, the Secundus, the Tertius, the Quartus, the Quintus, and all the rest. 

The Prime spoke once more, without looking back at the Ace: “Because you are my brother, I told them not to kill you. But because you were my brother, I won't do it myself.”

The Ace heard the Prime's footsteps leave the room, unable to look at the Prime's back as he left.

“Ace. You're half-life now. You know what that means,” the Secundus stepped forward, his cruel eyes glinting with pleasure.

“Ain't getting trashed. You can't do this to me; I'm an Imperator.” The Ace got up to his feet, tossing his black kerchief aside, closing his hands into hard fists, old fight scars standing stark against his white knuckles.

“You ain't no Imperator no more.” The Secundus came at him with his fists and the Ace's world descended into pain.

*****

Dizzy, the Ace tried to move, but found that he couldn't. He couldn't move; he couldn't see. If he couldn't get up, that was the end, the Ace thought. He had fought many times, been beaten and given beatings himself many times, but this was the worst it had ever been, and he could taste the blood in his mouth, feel the cracked and broken ribs with every breath.

“Ace.”

The voice of the Immorta. So he must be dead, and this the purgatory beyond Valhalla, the place of punishment where disgraced and un-Witnessed War Boys walked, worthless and alone.

“Ace? Are you awake?” No, not the Immorta, but her, his Furiosa. The Ace blinked as she wiped his face with a wet cloth; his eyelids had been stuck together with dried blood. Furiosa sighed, relieved. 

“Can't...move.”

“No. And you shouldn't. You're hurt and hurt badly.”

He coughed, and the pain that gripped his chest turned white-hot and he found that he was spitting up blood.

Her breath caught, but then she wiped off the blood gently. “I made the Organic Mechanic come to see you. He says you'll live.”

“No. Lived long enough.” And to his horror, he found his eyes brimming with tears.

“Ace?”

“Things I done, Fury. If I can't tell you, I can't tell no one else. And of anyone, of everyone... you need to know.” He reached for her hand; briefly he felt at her mechanical one, forgetting, but then she took his hand, their fingers interlaced.

That small warm hand in his, and the storm that wrenched it from his grip because he couldn't hold on tight enough...

“You always thought good of me. I wish I could have been that man for you.” Dazed, the Ace's mind wandered. “But you're just my guilt. I didn't do it for you. None of it. I did it for me.”

“Ace, what are you talking about? Stay still, you're going to hurt yourself...”

“I didn't save you because you needed it. I saved you cuz I needed it.” 

“Ace, what are you...”

“Long time ago....she would have been your age if she lived.”

“Ace, stop that. Lie back down. You need to rest.”

“Listen. Her mother was a breeder. He told me that all women just need mastering, that they liked to put up a fuss, to scream and fight a little because it was fun. I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't know how much I hurt her. I didn't understand, not until it was too late. The Immortan said we needed more babies. I did what I thought I had to do. And when it was born, my little girl that I made with her... She took the babe in her arms and leapt off the end of the farm without a word to anyone. Never got the bodies back; they were gone by the time we sent War Boys down to fetch 'em.”

He gripped her hand tight, enough to hurt her, but the pain was nothing as Furiosa felt the tears rolling down her cheeks as he spoke.

“I would have named her after my sister. I wanted to give her a future where there was no more suffering. Where she could live raised up high without being afraid, without ever being hungry or thirsty. But that was all a fool's dream; I did everything wrong even before she drew her first breath, and now there's nothing for her or anyone else in this world but hurt.”

“Alex.”

Through the haze of his pain, he thought could see her clearly, her short-cropped hair and her green eyes bright. She was just a child...

“You know my name. How...?”

“You told me once, a long time ago.” Furiosa smiled sadly. “Just like you told me I'd have a place, if I had the will and the determination.”

“Too long ago. A lifetime.”

“You were right. I do have a place, and a high one.” She drew his hand up to her forehead, blackened with the touch of chrome, the sign of an Imperator. “Now it's up to you to do what you told me to do yourself.”

“What's that?” 

“Be brave. Keep moving, keep going forward, one step at a time. I want you to heal so that once you can get up again, you'll work hard to have a place by my side.”

“Furiosa.” And she could feel his hand growing lax in her hand, his eyes closing with exhaustion. “What do you mean?”

“Put on the white and be a half-life War Boy. You said it yourself. You were always a War Boy first, before being an Imperator, and you'll be a War Boy to the end. So be a War Boy for me.”

“Ah, Furiosa.” The Ace sighed as exhaustion crept over him. She tucked the blanket around him, keeping him covered from the cold night air. Soon, his breathing evened out, but she still held his hand in hers, warm and firm.

“Ace.” She pressed her lips lightly to the bruised and bloodied knuckles of his hand. “I know you did it for me too.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Oi! It's the Ace!”

“The Ace Imperator!”

“Pay up Rusty; he's not dead.”

“But he's not wearing the emblem?”

“Heard he was demoted. Look, he's half-life now, just like you and me.”

“Look at his hair. How long was he holed up?”

“Too long. He's been poorly.”

“Where was he hiding?”

“With the War Rig Imperator, of course.”

“The Ace is still alive?”

Striding through the twisting tunnels past the curious eyes of whispering War Boys, the Ace walked at Furiosa's side, limping slightly, still healing from the beating he had sustained.

At the great metal edifice of the V8 shrine, they stood together, hands linked. Silently, the Ace knelt down before Furiosa, letting go of her hand.

“Ace.”

“Imperator Furiosa,” the Ace bowed his head, and folded his hands together, forming the V8 with flesh and bone.

“Be now a War Boy for all the rest of your half-life.” She pressed the cold edge of the blade of the straight-razor against his forehead. “Immorta. Accept the offering.”

*****

“Why can't we stop?”

Furiosa's mouth tightened in a line, and even through the darkened glass of his goggles, the Ace could see the fear in her eyes, the guilt and glint of unshed tears.

Their eyes met briefly.

“What have you done?” Reaching in, the Ace put his hand on her shoulder, giving her a squeeze. “Furiosa, what have you done?”

Holstering her handgun, Furiosa gripped his bicep tight. “Ace. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you. I'm getting them away. Getting us away. The girls...they can't live like that anymore. Not as breeders, as slaves. I can't live like that either. Angharad reminded me of who I am. Who I've always been. I can't be a War Boy anymore. This is our best chance...”

“What about the crew?”

“I'm taking what I can and running. We're going to the green place, beyond the mountains.”

Underneath his stained fingers, he could feel the pulse of her heartbeat, strong and fast beneath his bare palm.

“Then...then I'm going with you. Don't matter to me what I am. So long as I live, where you lead, I'll follow.” The Ace let her go. Gripping the window frame tightly, he glanced back at the pursuit vehicle briefly to gauge its position, momentarily making eye contact with the driver pointing the sawed-off shotgun at him, before whipping around and shooting out its tire with his crossbow so that the car lost control in a fierce motion, swerving wide away from the War Rig.

“Order stands! We're heading east!” the Ace shouted, securing his weapon. He opened the passenger door of the War Rig and got inside, quickly rolling up the windows as wind-blown sand rattled against the glass, and above, the crew scrambled to shelter as they raced into the storm.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Ulsae1995 for inspiring the story. Thanks of course to prereaders Geoduck and Tfuriosa for feedback and suggestions.
> 
> The idea for this story came from [a conversation](http://ulsae1995.tumblr.com/post/130236069695/evilasiangenius-ulsae1995-please-give-me) with Ulsae1995, based on the artist's [drawings of the Ace as an Imperator](http://ulsae1995.tumblr.com/tagged/imperator-ace). Some additional scenes were inspired by another work by the same artist, [Strange Parallel Lines](http://ulsae1995.tumblr.com/post/129274956365/strange-parallel-lines-hey-ahem-my-hand-feels). Additionally, a key scene was inspired by [this image of the Ace steadying Furiosa as she aims a gun](http://ulsae1995.tumblr.com/post/135417092370/sooo-evilasiangenius-wants-me-to-upload-this-on). 
> 
> **Notes**
> 
> I kept the name of Alex for the Ace, which is the same as in _Rota_ , but the name is the only similarity; the Ace here is a very different person who's followed a very different path in life.
> 
> Mosa is a gender-neutral Sotho name meaning 'grace'.
> 
> Jujubes are red, date-like fruit that are often eaten in Asia, either fresh or dried, and is considered to have medicinal properties.
> 
> The Glock 17 is the same gun that is hidden in the War Rig behind some ornamental ceramic Skulls.
> 
> 'Bru' is South African slang for 'bro'.
> 
> Of course, Mosa, the Ace, and the Prime are not biologically brothers, but there is a brotherhood among the Imperators.
> 
> The Ace has been working behind the scenes to make sure that Furiosa has a good driver.


End file.
